


What's in a Name?

by ideserveyou



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Battlefield, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/ideserveyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How would it be, if Llud had never rescued a Saxon orphan, and hence Arthur and Kai met for the first time as enemies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trepkos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepkos/gifts).



> Huge thanks to trepkos for the prompt that caused me to write this!

‘Nooooo!’

The scream echoes across the valley; cuts through the sounds of the battle like a white-hot knife through flesh.

Arthur’s blood runs cold.

That was Llud’s voice.

Heart pounding, his throat tight with fear, Arthur goads himself to desperate effort. He dispatches the Saxon in front of him with a swift sword-thrust, rams his shield into the face of the enemy coming at him from his left; leaps over the piled bodies and runs as hard as he can towards the sound.  
And there is his foster-father: still on his feet, sword upraised. Arthur feels relief flood through him, but it is short-lived.

For where Llud is, there his son Iestyn should be also.  
But of him, there is no sign. And Llud is yelling, cursing, brandishing his weapon in a blind furious rage such as Arthur has never seen.

A Saxon warrior – one of the few left standing after the Celtic ambush – is running towards the river. A big man, with a long braid of yellow hair down his back. As he goes, he flings aside his splintered shield; he is unarmed save for his seax, his short fighting-blade.  
Llud is after him now, and Arthur is running towards the Saxon too, to cut off his escape.  
The man sees him, and hesitates for an instant, sealing his fate.  
Llud’s longsword slices viciously into his thigh, bringing him crashing to the ground with a yell of pain.  
The sword lifts, and flashes in the dying sunlight, and falls again.  
There is a choking gurgle, and then Llud is tottering to his feet, blood dripping from his blade.  
His eyes meet Arthur’s, and it is as though the sun goes dark.

Arthur knows that his foster-brother is dead.

He stumbles, and chokes on a sob; then rallies himself. He must go to Llud, and help him –  
‘Father!’  
There is a shout from behind him, and another Saxon leaps past him, out of nowhere it seems; yells in fury at Llud; raises his axe.  
Just in time, Arthur hurls himself between them and disarms the Saxon, who lands on his back, the breath knocked from his body, his weapon out of reach.  
Arthur is on him in an instant, pinning him to the ground.

A young man of about his own age, tall and lean, with unruly golden hair falling to his shoulders.

He struggles and gasps for breath; looks up at Arthur. Their eyes meet over the rim of the Saxon’s upraised shield.

Llud is yelling and sobbing, ‘Kill him!’  
The Saxon’s chest is heaving, and there is a flash of something that might be regret in his dark eyes.  
Arthur lowers his sword ‘No.’  
He can hear the other’s harsh breathing; smell his sweat.  
Llud takes him by the shoulder and shakes him roughly. ‘This Saxon bastard must die!’  
‘No.’  
‘His father killed my son!’  
‘And you killed his father.’  
‘He is an enemy! Out of my way!’  
Arthur takes a deep breath; glares at his foster-father.

‘Who is leader here?’

Llud stops and stares, panting, tear-streaked.  
Then he drops his gaze.  
‘You are,’ he says resignedly.

Arthur gets up, very carefully; signals to his men, and has the Saxon taken away under guard.  
‘We bring him before the lawgiver,’ he says. ‘The Saxons have to see that we are not animals; we have honour also.’  
He picks up the Saxon’s fallen axe and gives it into his weaponmaster’s keeping, careful not to let Llud see.

Then he puts his arm about his foster-father’s shoulders. Together they go back up the slope to where Iestyn’s body lies broken and crumpled, the hideous axe-slash across his chest still oozing blood; together they do what has to be done.

…

The battle is won, but it does not feel like a victory.

Llud is still grief-stricken and angry, and the troops are restive, having learned that a Saxon captive still lives.  
Arthur argues that they should return to the village and subject the man to the due process of law, but the men who were standing, not an hour ago, around the funeral pyre of the man slain by their captive’s father – they will not hear of it.  
So Arthur calls the Celts to assemble on the darkening battlefield, and has the prisoner brought before them, for Arthur himself to administer justice as is his right as leader.

The young Saxon stands straight and proud, his hands bound, a spearman on either side of him.  
His hair shines like gold in the flickering torchlight.  
‘What is your name, Saxon?’ Arthur asks.  
The man glares at him defiantly. ‘Brett.’  
Arthur looks at him coldly; as the spectators expect.  
‘You owe a blood-debt to my father, Brett.’  
‘And my life to you, it seems.’ His voice is rich, deep, musical; Arthur finds himself wondering what it would be like to hear him sing.  
‘And your life to me,’ Arthur agrees.  
Their eyes meet, briefly.  
Then the Saxon raises his head; bares his throat. ‘My life is yours,’ he says. ‘Take it, and have done.’  
The crowd around them growls assent.  
Arthur lifts his sword; tightens his grip on the hilt. This man is his enemy; this man’s father killed his brother. This man deserves to die.

Arthur looks at the graceful pale curve of the Saxon’s throat; the strong muscles of his neck; the pulse beating under his jaw.

‘No,’ he says, and lowers his weapon.

There is a murmur of protest, but Arthur quells it with a glance.  
‘Ransom him!’ someone calls out.  
Arthur looks questioningly at their captive.  
The Saxon shakes his head. ‘My father was the last of our house, save for me. You will get nothing out of Cerdig for my sake. I am of little value to him.’  
The murmurs break out again, growing to cries, and then shouts for the Saxon’s death.  
Arthur feels the Celts’ hostility; it beats against him like a hail of arrows. He must act, and act fast. Somehow his life and this man’s are bound together. The Saxon cannot be allowed to die. He cannot –

He is still watching Arthur steadily.  
The world shrinks; there are only the two of them.  
Arthur steps closer and says in an undertone: ‘Follow my lead, if you wish to live.’  
The golden head dips in a barely perceptible nod.

Arthur turns to the crowd; holds up his hand for silence.  
‘I will not kill this man in cold blood,’ he says in a clear voice.  
He is acutely conscious of the tall body standing just behind him. Warm, and alive.  
‘Kill him,’ someone says again, with less conviction.  
Arthur shakes his head and says fiercely ‘No!’

They look at him in surprise. He struggles to control his voice. ‘No. This is war. And there is no sense in wasting even one weapon that can be of use to us. Brett –’ he raises his sword again, and turns to face his captive – ‘you have acknowledged that you owe me and my family a life-debt. I, Arthur, claim you as my bondsman. You will serve in my household, as our law demands, for a year and a day; and if after that time I deem your service faithful, I will count the debt paid, and I will release you.’  
The Saxon nods. ‘Very well. It shall be as you say. I swear it.’

Arthur cuts his bonds.  
The Saxon’s fingers quiver briefly at his touch.

The Celts mutter among themselves, but they know the law, and no man dares speak out against their leader’s decision, save for Llud, who is outraged.  
‘A Saxon, kin to my son’s slayer, to live among us?’  
‘That is my decision, Llud,’ Arthur says. ‘I have acted according to the law. As we all must do, if we wish Celtic captives to have any chance of just treatment at the Saxons’ hands.’  
Llud snorts, unconvinced. ‘They won’t even notice he’s gone. It’s an insult to your brother’s memory.’  
‘Had Iestyn lived, he would have done the same as I, and you know it,’ Arthur says.  
Llud sighs heavily, defeated. ‘I know. But don’t expect me to like it – or him. Even his Saxon name is foul.’  
‘Then he shall have a new one,’ Arthur says. ‘A Celtic name.’

He glances at the young warrior, who has not moved from the spot.

A crow flies over and calls harshly.

‘Hear me!’ Arthur cries to his people. ‘This is my bondsman – and his name is Kai.’


	2. Parting

Arthur stands at the top of the longhouse steps in the sunshine, leaning on the railing, his cloak wrapped tightly about him although the day is not cold.

For a while, he stares across the yard at the lake and the half-bare trees without really seeing them. Then he sighs, and reaches up to scratch irritably at the back of his head, where the healing scabs across the axe-slash are catching at his hair.

Footsteps come out of the door behind him; he starts to turn, then recognises Llud’s heavy tread and sags back against the rail.

Llud comes to stand beside him; sets a hand on his shoulder.   
‘It’s time,’ he says, his voice kind. ‘Best get it over with.’

Arthur nods. ‘Summon them, then,’ he says. He does not trust himself to say more.

‘Very well.’ And Llud is gone again.

Soon, people are beginning to assemble in the yard below; looking up expectantly.

Arthur rallies himself as best he can; straightens his shoulders; prepares for what will be the hardest fight of all, even though he already knows he must lose. And none of those who witness him fight it will ever know it has even been fought.

Arthur’s stomach clenches; his throat is tight with misery.

He has been dreading this day.

Even though he is tired, so tired of fighting.

So many fights over the past year and a day, and almost all of them on account of Kai…

…

The road home from the battle with Cerdig was a long one, and hard; it rained nearly the whole way, and men and horses were sick and cold and exhausted. It was a battle in itself to keep them moving, some days. Silent, sullen, and alien, Kai was the butt and focus of much of their discontent, and Arthur had to keep him constantly in sight in order to ensure his safety. He had to keep him out of Llud’s path, too: not easy when Llud was still so wrapped in grief, and needed the comfort and encouragement of his remaining son.

It was still a struggle when at last they reached home. The villagers didn’t want a Saxon in their midst, and Arthur could not blame them, especially those who had lost loved ones in the battle. Llud was the hardest of all to convince.   
‘He will be the death of you, Arthur. You let him sleep across the threshold as though he were in truth your shield-bearer.’   
‘It is for his own protection,’ Arthur said. ‘Kai is at more risk from my people than we are from him. And I would not have any man in this village become a murderer for no good reason.’   
Llud frowned. ‘He’s a Saxon, Arthur. Born and bred to hate the Celts. What’s to stop him slitting your throat – and mine – some dark night?’   
‘He will not,’ Arthur insisted, over and over, while Llud and the others snorted in disbelief. ‘And it will do us all good – myself included – to begin to see at least one Saxon as a human being. Not simply as an enemy, but as a man like ourselves. A man with courage and honour and loyalty.’   
‘You can’t know that,’ Llud said, his mouth set in a grim line.   
‘I do know it,’ Arthur replied.   
But Llud shook his head.   
‘You cannot possibly know it. His father killed your foster-brother. He is a stranger, and a threat. To you, and to us all.’   
‘Then let us set about changing that,’ Arthur retorted.

And he set about trying.

Not that Kai made it easy for him. For a long time he was withdrawn and surly, as though he resented having had his life saved, although it was by his own choice. He carried out his household duties with lowered eyes, speaking little, and then only when spoken to. Not that anybody besides Arthur really bothered, beyond hurling the odd insult.

Arthur began to wonder whether the bond he’d felt between them on the battlefield had simply been an imagining.

Hoping that Kai would appreciate the kindness, Arthur had permitted him to keep his Saxon clothing – a black studded war-tunic, and a wolfskin slung across his chest, and a big piebald fur-trimmed cloak. Kai did not seem to care much one way or the other; but the Celts in Arthur’s camp did, and Arthur had another fight on his hands.   
‘Why should we have to see a Saxon strutting about our village in his filthy foreign garb? Let’s see him in ordinary clothes like any decent person.’   
‘Why d’you let him dress as a warrior? He doesn’t deserve the honour.’   
Arthur sighed, and cast about for some explanation that would bear public scrutiny. ‘His clothes serve as a reminder to him that he is here on sufferance. He may no longer be our enemy, but neither is he truly one of us. He needs to be kept in his place.’

A month or so after Kai’s arrival in the village, on a morning sparkling with frost, Arthur felt keen eyes upon him on the practice ground, and looked up from his sword-exercises to see his bondsman watching with eager interest.

On an impulse, Arthur sent a servant to fetch a spare shield and the Saxon’s axe, and ordered Kai to bind the blade with sheepskins, and then to step forth and show his skill.   
Kai was slow and careful at first, perhaps fearing a trap; then the joy of the fight took him over, and his movements flowed, the axe-strokes coming faster and harder, the muffled edge striking dully against Arthur’s sword.   
Arthur was forcing him back and back towards the palisade, when all at once Kai lunged, trapped Arthur’s blade and whirled it out of his hand almost before Arthur had time to blink.   
Arthur watched impassively as his weapon span overhead and embedded itself quivering in the turf.   
Then he smiled. ‘Your round, I think,’ he said.   
Kai nodded in acknowledgement.   
‘You’ll have to teach me to counter that trick,’ Arthur went on.   
‘He’ll do no such thing!’ And Llud was there again, eyes blazing, holding out Arthur’s sword.   
‘What on earth are you thinking of? Letting the Saxon fight with his own axe? He might have killed you.’   
‘Llud, you’re not thinking straight,’ Arthur said, knowing that Llud was seeing in his mind’s eye the moment when Iestyn had been struck down. ‘Listen. If Kai was going to kill me, he would have found a less public and more certain way to do it by now.’   
‘But – ’   
‘Hear me out! If this man is to fight for us, better he do it with a weapon in which he is skilled, rather than one in which he is not. And he can teach us – yes, even you, Llud – how to fight against the axe, the better to counter the next Saxon attack. Now.’   
He turned to Kai, who was still standing motionless, running his fingers up and down his axe haft. ‘Show me again, Kai.’

It took most of the winter for Arthur to learn how to counter Kai’s disarming trick, and even then he could never be completely certain of success. In return, he taught Kai to fight with the sword and the short sword, despite Llud’s continuing doubts.

‘He’s injured you again.’   
‘It’s only a scratch, Llud. And it was my own fault. I… was distracted. I took my eye off the blade.’   
‘You shouldn’t let him near you with an un-bated weapon.’ Llud was not in the least placated.   
‘We can’t practise in earnest without them,’ Arthur said patiently. ‘You know how the binding slows them down.’   
‘I don’t like it.’   
‘Well, I do. My skills against the axe are vastly improved. That has to be worth the odd scratch.’   
‘I still don’t like it.’ Llud turned to Kai, who was standing uncertainly just inside the door, still holding his axe and a bundle of assorted weapons. ‘Give me those,’ he snapped. ‘And be more careful next time. Or you’ll have me to reckon with.’   
He snatched the things from Kai’s hands and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.   
‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur said, gesturing to Kai to join him on the bench by the hearth.   
Kai sat down, holding out his chilled hands to the flames.   
‘I understand him,’ he said. ‘He hates me, for what my father did.’   
He stared into the fire, studiously avoiding Arthur’s gaze.   
‘Do you hate me, for what mine did?’ Arthur asked.   
Kai drew in a sharp breath; let it out again very carefully. ‘No, I…’   
A charred log fell with a rustle.   
‘Kai?’   
Kai shook his head. ‘No.’   
And he would say no more.

On a mild morning in early spring, Arthur was coming back from a check of the western sentry-posts. He heard the disturbance while he was still some way from the village: the sounds of a scuffle, Llud shouting for order, many other voices raised in anger.   
Urging his white horse to a flying gallop, Arthur hurtled into the yard, the crowd scattering left and right before him.   
He swung himself from the saddle; drew his sword.   
‘What is happening here?’   
Two men were still rolling on the ground, one with his hands at the throat of the other, whose blond hair was tumbled in the dust...   
‘Kai! And you, Aved! Break it up.’   
‘He tried to steal it from me,’ snarled Aved through clenched teeth.   
‘To – take back – what is mine,’ Kai choked, struggling against Aved’s grip.   
‘I said, break it up!’ Arthur slammed his sword against the nearest bench. ‘Now!’   
Gasping and filthy, the two men stood before him, still glaring at each other.   
Arthur took a deep breath. ‘I will not tolerate such behaviour in my camp. I want an explanation. You first, Aved.’   
‘He started it,’ Aved mumbled.   
‘I don’t care who started it. You are both in the wrong. But I will know the reason.’   
‘He tried to take my knife,’ Aved said.   
‘My knife,’ Kai muttered.   
‘Show me this knife,’ Arthur snapped.   
Reluctantly, Aved drew it from the scabbard at his back, and held it out.   
A short, broad blade with a curved belly and a wicked point to it: the fighting-knife of the Saxons, the seax that gives them their name.   
‘I took it from the battlefield,’ said Aved sullenly. ‘As is my right. It is a good knife. And the man who carried it is dead.’   
A glance at Kai’s face told Arthur all he needed to know.   
‘This was your father’s,’ he said.   
Aved held out his hand, but Arthur shook his head.   
‘I will take this,’ he said. Both Kai and Aved opened their mouths to protest, but Arthur cut them short. ‘You will be compensated, Aved. But I cannot allow you to keep this weapon. Neither, Kai, can I allow you to have it. That is the end of the matter. Now hear this.’ He raised his voice to the crowd around them. ‘I say again, I will not have such behaviour among my men. We have enough enemies to fight. And my bondsman is not one of them.’   
He locked away the seax with Kai’s axe in the weapons store.   
‘I know it was important to you,’ he said, when Kai demanded to know what had become of it. ‘But the peace of this village is more important – to me, and to all of us. That is something you need to learn. We will not speak of this matter again.’

It took some while for the dust to settle and the village to resume its usual calm. Arthur sighed inwardly, and rearranged the duty rosters to keep Aved and Kai on separate shifts as far as possible. An uneasy truce prevailed between Arthur and his bondsman; but now he found himself arguing with Llud again and again, sitting up late into the night by the hearthside.   
‘You should have let me kill him,’ Llud said, ‘and saved yourself all of this.’   
‘Llud, you taught us that vengeance is wrong. And you taught me to have a dream.’ Arthur leaned forward, gazing earnestly into his father’s unhappy face. ‘A dream of uniting the Celts against the Saxons, and more… that one day our people and the invaders may learn to live in peace.’   
‘Impossible,’ Llud said shortly.   
‘No. Difficult, I grant you, but never say that it cannot be done. If my people see that you and I can set aside our hatred – spare this man’s life, accept him into our house – then surely that sends a clear message to all the Celts. To those idiots Garet and Gawain for a start, who think their own family feud more important than the defence of our lands.’   
‘How can you say that? When your own brother is dead, slain by kin of that – bondsman of yours?’   
Arthur laid a hand on Llud’s arm. ‘I know it isn’t easy. Not for you, nor for me. I miss my brother every day, and I know you do too. But if we kill this Saxon for vengeance, it won’t bring Iestyn back to us, will it?’   
‘No.’ Llud sighed. ‘But I don’t see that one Saxon is going to make a lot of difference.’   
‘Perhaps not. But every journey begins with a single step, Llud. You taught me that, too. Let us begin our journey towards that peace we dream of. And let us begin with Kai.’

So Arthur continued to practise his weapons skills with Kai, being careful to ensure that the axe was returned to the weapons store and locked away after each session. He taught him to ride, too, loaning him a horse, a big rangy black stallion whose master had not returned from the last skirmish.   
But even this had to be a battle. Two, in fact.

‘A Saxon on a horse? Who ever heard of such a thing?’   
‘He’s no good to us on foot,’ Arthur said; and shortly afterwards, ‘You’re no good to us on foot,’ when Kai snorted, not unlike the horse, and said much the same.   
Both Kai and the black stallion were stubbornly determined to fail in whatever task Arthur might set them, and it took all Arthur’s reserves of patience and guile to persuade them, step by reluctant step, that it would be to everyone’s benefit to have them work together.   
Kai’s natural balance and poise, and his love of a challenge, finally prevailed, and soon he was at ease in the saddle. That was the best part of the year: long summer days riding the boundaries, or hunting in the forest, or racing over the hills, their differences forgotten for a while in the excitement of the chase.

Arthur began to look forward to waking in the morning, to seeing the tall Saxon standing on the threshold, for no matter how early Arthur woke, Kai always seemed to be up earlier, ready to do his bidding. And he began to become accustomed to the flash of blond hair always at his shoulder; and the silences between the two of them became companionable rather than awkward.

But now Arthur had to fight himself. Missing his brother more than ever, he longed to confide in Kai, tell him all that was in his heart, as he and Iestyn had been used to do; and more than that, he longed to take that lean golden body in his arms and make it his own. To see Kai smile, make him laugh, hear him sing for joy…   
He was now certain that their bond was no imagining. But what possible future could it have?

Sometimes he spoke to Kai of his dream of peace.   
But if Kai had hopes and dreams of his own, he kept them to himself. He would never speak of his Saxon life that was; only of the small everyday business of his life in the Celtic village.

And he never smiled.

Kai grieved for his family, Arthur knew; he took care to hide it, but Arthur heard him weeping occasionally, in the small hours of the night, or in some hidden place. The last time in the stables just a couple of days ago.   
It tore at Arthur’s very soul, but he made himself pass by the door.   
Hard enough for Kai to go home – hard enough for both of them – without Arthur making demands on his heart that could not be fulfilled.   
So Arthur fought down the needs of his own heart, and said nothing.

The Saxons made their regular autumn attack – Cerdig’s people finished with their harvest, and the men free to fight the Celts for more territory to strip of its trees and cover with wheat and cattle.   
‘Time for you to fight for me,’ Arthur said to Kai, on the eve of battle.   
‘As you have fought for me,’ Kai said, very quietly. ‘And I never thanked you for it.’   
‘There was no need,’ Arthur said. ‘I have no regrets.’   
But even this did not make Kai smile…

The fight was a fierce one, the Celts driving the Saxons back over the frontier, but with heavy losses. Arthur kept Kai close by his side, mindful of his people’s doubts as to Kai’s divided loyalties; and he was glad of it.   
He and a small war-band were cut off behind enemy lines; surrounded and outnumbered, desperately trying to stay alive long enough for Llud and his cavalry to reach them. Again and again they fought, back to back and shoulder to shoulder, and finally a huge red-headed giant of a Saxon broke the tiny knot of Celts apart and laid about him. Arthur got an axe-slash across the back of his head, feeling the blade grate against the bone. He tottered, and fell to his knees; but Kai sprang to his defence and deflected the blow that would have finished him off from the front, Arthur escaping with just a shallow cut on the forehead.   
Through the blood streaming into his eyes, Arthur saw the horsemen careering across the plain to rescue them; saw, too, Kai standing at bay, axe raised against his own countrymen, ready to defend his master to the death. Magnificent, foolish, courageous; and realisation hit Arthur, as hard as the axe-blow and twice as painful, that it was no longer a matter of simply being accustomed to Kai’s presence, or even of desiring him.   
He needed Kai; would always need him, and be incomplete without him.   
The darkness took him before he could say anything, and he woke when it was all over, their enemies routed, Llud and Kai sitting on either side of his pallet and looking equally anxious.   
They did not say which of them had been holding his hand through the night…

There were some among the Celtic warriors who thanked Kai for their leader’s life; one even shook his hand.   
Llud grudgingly admitted that his blood-debt was paid.   
Kai looked him in the eyes, as he never had before. ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ he said.   
‘And I for yours,’ Llud grunted, and looked hastily away.

…

 

The longhouse door creaks open and shut, and Arthur tears himself clear of the clinging memories, to do what must be done.

Llud brings Kai to stand beside him.

Kai’s face is shuttered, impassive; just as it was on the battlefield, a year and a day ago.

Before the assembled villagers, Arthur formally declares his bondsman free of his life-debt and his service.

Then he turns, takes the axe which Llud is holding, and gives it back to its rightful owner.

Kai takes it, fondling the haft as though it is a live thing.   
His fingers are strong and beautiful; as they close lovingly around the wood, Arthur feels a warmth in his belly, and a pain in his heart.

Steeling himself, he reaches out to clasp Kai’s hand for the last time. ‘Fare well, Brett. We shall miss you.’   
There are a few murmurs of assent from among the crowd. A measure of how far they have come.

Kai quivers slightly at his touch. Their eyes meet. Once again, just for an instant, there are only the two of them in the whole world.

‘I am no longer your enemy,’ Kai says, for Arthur’s ears alone.   
‘You never were,’ Arthur replies.

He releases Kai’s hand. Raises his voice, willing it not to crack; not to betray him. ‘You are free now. I grant you safe conduct to the borders of my land. And I wish you a safe journey home to your own people.’

‘I thank you,’ Kai says gravely, ‘for your just and fair treatment of me. I hope we shall never again meet as enemies on any battlefield. But maybe one day your dream of peace will be fulfilled, and we shall meet again as friends. I hope so.’

‘I also,’ Arthur says, and then he cannot say any more, but turns and watches in silence as Kai takes his leave of Llud with a nod of the head, and then shoulders his meagre belongings and walks resolutely down the steps, out of the gate and along the causeway.

He holds himself very straight, and does not look back.

A last flash of that golden hair in the sunlight; and he is gone.

The world seems grey and joyless.

Llud comes to stand at Arthur’s shoulder. ‘I hope all will be well with Kai,’ he says.

Arthur speaks sharply: rebuking his own heart as much as Llud.

‘Speak of Kai no longer,’ he says. ‘He is a Saxon who fights with Cerdig, and his name is Brett.’


	3. Crossing the Water

_Cold and stiff, Kai is lying in a ditch by the road, his sightless eyes staring at the bright sky, the dark blood congealing in the slash across his throat…_

 _In the darkness of the forest, the wolves gather, and one small fire is not enough to hold them back…_

 _Cerdig raises his axe. ‘This traitor must die!’ The blade whistles down…_

Arthur draws the back of his hand across his eyes, and berates himself for his weakness. He needs to be strong now, for Llud and for his people. He has work to do, and such evil imaginings are helping nobody, least of all himself.

The fact must be faced: Kai is gone, returned to the Saxons by his own choice, and the Celts will probably never know what became of him.

Arthur sits up on his bed, and looks across the room. The late afternoon sunshine gleams through the doorway, lighting up the place where Kai used to sleep. Where Kai slept, only last night…

Just a meaningless empty space, now. Like the one in Arthur’s heart.

…

This morning – their last morning – Kai’s face had been grave and impassive as ever.  
‘You will be freed, today,’ Arthur had said.  
Kai nodded. He drew a breath, as though to speak; let it out again.  
‘What will you do?’  
‘Go back to my village,’ Kai said. ‘Go home.’  
‘But will you not be punished, as a deserter and traitor?’  
‘Not if I can convince them that I have information that may be useful to them.’  
Arthur felt a cold wrenching in his guts. ‘You will survive by betraying us, then?’  
‘Of course not.’ A bitter smile twisted Kai’s mouth. ‘What do you think of me? I would never tell them the truth of what I have learned here. I am no traitor. I shall keep my honour, as well as my freedom.’  
‘Or you could stay,’ Arthur said.

The words fell into the silence between them like pebbles into the lake.

Kai shook his head. ‘I don’t belong here. I’m a Saxon. I have done what your law demanded. Now I must return and face what my own law demands.’  
‘But –’  
‘Oh, never think that I am ungrateful to you, for what you have done. You have fought for me as though – as though I were not your enemy…’ He heaved a sigh. ‘But we must be who we must be. And do what must be done. Let neither of us make it harder than it need be, for the other.’  
And there had seemed no more to be said.

When Kai was gone, and the onlookers had dispersed, Arthur came back into the longhouse and made himself clear up Kai’s bedding from beside the door, as though to erase all trace of him. Resolute and tight-lipped, he threw the straw into the fire, and picked up the fleece blankets.  
He longed to put them on his own bed and fling himself down on them and bury his face in them, to drink in the faint scent of Kai that remained.  
He knew that if he once did that, he would begin to weep and never be able to stop; so he took them straight to the washing-place and ordered them to be laundered without delay.

Even so, the treacherous tears welled up and threatened to overwhelm him; Arthur fought them down and went to the practice ground with the other men, hoping to forget his grief for a while.  
He threw himself into close combat with a dagger, against Aidan the smith, a giant of a man and surprisingly fast on his feet. Reckless and miserable, Arthur struck without thought, harder and harder, faster and faster… until a poorly timed blow against Aidan’s shield cracked his blade almost in two.  
Apologising to his opponent, and leaving his abused weapon in the smith’s capable hands for repair, Arthur went to the weapons store to borrow another dagger.

And when he opened the locked chest, lying on top of the pile was a short, broad blade with a curved belly and a wicked point…

Kai’s father’s seax.

…

Arthur does not remember returning to the longhouse, but for some while now he has been sitting on his bed, turning the Saxon knife over and over in his hands, the tears falling unchecked despite his efforts to contain them. He cannot free his mind of the evil images of Kai, alone, dead or tortured or afraid...

‘That’s mine,’ a voice says from the doorway.

Arthur looks up, startled. He had not heard anyone approach.

A familiar tall figure is leaning there. His golden hair shines in the last rays of the sun.

‘You came back,’ Arthur says stupidly.  
Kai snorts in self-deprecation.  
‘Got as far as the river crossing by the east hill before I realised – I left something behind. So I came back for it.’  
Wordlessly, Arthur holds out the knife.  
Kai crosses the room in three swift strides, kneels before Arthur, and takes the seax out of his hand.  
He throws the weapon aside, and clasps Arthur’s hand in both of his own.  
‘Not that,’ he says, shaking his head.  
His hands are cold.  
‘What, then?’ Arthur hardly dares ask the question.  
Kai looks into his eyes.  
‘You,’ he replies.  
Arthur tries to speak, and fails. He looks up through his tears, hoping Kai can read the truth in his face…

‘Arthur...’ Kai hesitates. He has rarely called Arthur by name before. Then he continues with an effort, still gripping Arthur’s hand: ‘My heart, if it’s like that with you, too… if you truly… if I so chose, would you permit me to stay here?’  
Arthur still can’t speak. Kai’s grasp tightens until it’s painful; his eyes are fixed on Arthur’s face, pleading.  
‘I should never have left. Never. But you did not ask me to stay.’

‘I wanted to leave you free to choose,’ Arthur says, his voice husky. ‘A Celt would have understood that.’  
‘A Saxon would have asked directly. And I was too proud to beg, and risk being denied.’ The words tumble out in a flood, as though Kai has been holding them back, and now the dam has broken. ‘I knew the Saxons would not take me back – that I would be slain for treachery. But I preferred that certainty to the possibility that you would turn me away. I was a stiff-necked, prideful fool, and I am sorry. If I am to have a life, it will be here, with you. I will swear fealty to you, if you wish it. Here.’  
He lets go of Arthur’s hand; fumbles at his belt for his axe, and lays it before Arthur’s feet.  
He is still on his knees; waiting on Arthur’s reply.

‘There is no need...’ Arthur can hardly breathe to get the words out.  
‘But I choose to.’ Kai looks up and meets Arthur’s eyes. ‘I swear myself to you. I am your man for life. Do with me as you will.’

Arthur stands up; reaches down, takes Kai’s right hand and raises him to his feet.  
‘Very well,’ he says, above the joyous thundering of his heart. ‘I will speak plainly, as I should have done before, had I not also been a stiff-necked, prideful fool. And I swear to you, that from now on I will always do so. I wish you to stay here with me. Is that plain enough?’

Kai smiles. Arthur has never known him to smile before. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

‘No Saxon could have put it more plainly,’ Kai says. ‘If you truly wish me to stay here, then that is what I will do, until you wish it no longer.’  
‘Then you will stay here for life,’ Arthur says, smiling back.  
Kai puts his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. ‘Now we truly understand each other,’ he says.

Then his face clouds. ‘Arthur… there is something I need to tell you.’  
‘Speak, then.’  
Kai gestures to his belt; to the empty dagger-sheath hanging from the loops.  
‘The dagger you gave me, after the battle… I… I don’t have it any more.’  
He turns away, as though expecting anger, or a blow.  
‘I’m not angry with you,’ Arthur says. ‘Did you fight someone, on the road?’  
‘Only myself,’ Kai says.  
‘Then what…?’  
Kai turns back to face him, and Arthur sees that he is blushing. ‘I made a sacrifice.’  
Arthur puts a hand on his arm; waits for him to find the right words.

‘I got as far as the river,’ Kai says. ‘And I stopped on the bank, and thought… Your people believe that water is the boundary between this world and the next. When they go west of the sunset, the golden road leads your slain warriors across the water. I never truly understood what that meant, until today. And once I understood it, I knew that I was changed, and that once I crossed the ford to the other side and let the water divide me from you, there would be no going back. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Saxon I may be, but I belong on the Celtic side of the river now. So I cursed myself for a fool, and hoped I would not be too late, and…’  
‘Did as any Celt would have done. Gave a weapon into the water’s keeping, so that it would protect you, and lead you safely home.’

Kai looks at him with gratitude. ‘You do understand.’  
‘Of course. But I never thought that you would.’  
‘I nearly threw the axe instead,’ Kai says. ‘But that didn’t seem right – a Saxon weapon. And I wanted to lay it at your feet. So I broke my dagger, and cast it in, and wept a little because it was your gift… and then I came home.’

‘Welcome home, Kai.’ Arthur says; and bends to pick up the axe, and hand it back. ‘Or is it Brett?’

Kai hangs the axe back at his belt, and shakes his head. ‘Brett is gone. The name I choose to bear was a gift from you – one that cannot be broken, or lost, or taken from me. And I will never cast it away.’

He pulls Arthur close.

His eyes are very bright as he says: ‘I am the Saxon who rides with Arthur, and my name is Kai.’


	4. Speaking Plainly

‘Arthur.’

It is all I can say; all I need to say; all I ever want to say.  
I savour the taste of his name in my mouth, now that I can permit myself to speak it.

And at the thought of what else may be permitted me in time, my knees weaken and my breath comes short.  
For now, I am content with simply knowing the scent and the warmth and the heft of him in my arms, where I never thought he would ever be.  
He is trembling against me. I can feel his heart beating as though it will spring out of his chest, and my own is pounding in my throat.

Then he frees himself, and steps away.

I feel a sudden terror, but it is only so he can latch the door shut.  
He comes back and takes my hand, leading me towards the bed.  
I hesitate. ‘We are not ready for that yet,’ I say.  
‘I know,’ he answers. ‘I just want…’ And then he is weeping too hard to speak. He pulls me down beside him, and clings to me. I press my face into his hair, and feel his tears warm on my neck as his body heaves with sobs.

All this past year he has fought for me; and now that he has won, he is utterly lost.

I hold him close, and wait for the storm to pass.

‘What are we going to tell the village?’ I ask, when he is finally calm again.  
He rolls off me, wipes his face on his sleeve, and lies looking at the ceiling.  
‘We’ll think of something,’ he says. ‘They’ll be coming in for the night-gathering soon... I don’t know what Llud’s going to say.’  
‘We don’t need to worry about Llud,’ I say, tracing his profile with one finger.  
He frowns. ‘Why not?’  
I chuckle. ‘How d’you think an armed Saxon was allowed to walk into the longhouse unchallenged?’  
‘Llud let you in?’  
‘He saw me coming – told the sentries to open the gate, and mind their own business. Said he’d vouch for my good behaviour.’  
‘But he –’  
‘Dislikes me, still. I know. He told me. Then said he hoped all I intended to do with my axe was to lay it at your feet, and if not, I might as well use it on your head, and have done. “We need our leader,” he said, “and if you’re the price we have to pay to keep him, so be it. Just be sure you make him happy.” And so I will.’

‘You already have,’ he says.

I prop myself on an elbow; stroke the tangled dark hair back from his face. A sigh escapes me, and he looks questioningly at me. ‘What is it?’  
‘Arthur…’ I bite my lip. I don’t know how to ask.  
He is smiling now, a kind and understanding smile. ‘You want more.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Well, perhaps not right now, but when we’ve recovered… later… I mean…’ I draw a deep breath. ‘Even after being here a year, I don’t know how these things are done, among the Celts. Such… love between warriors… it must surely happen, yet it is never spoken of. Among the Saxons, it is permitted, and talked of openly, although those who follow the new One God now frown upon it. But here… Arthur, am I asking you to do something forbidden? Something your people will scorn you for? I would not for the world dishonour you…’

‘Hush,’ he says, and lays a finger across my lips. ‘There are many things we do not speak of. But that does not mean they are forbidden us, or considered shameful. There may be some among my people who will ask: why you? But so long as we act with discretion, neither my honour nor yours will be in question. And as to the One God… That is a matter for my own heart and conscience, and I will settle it with Him when I am called to judgement.’

‘He will find he’s met his match,’ I say, laughing with relief.  
‘As I have,’ Arthur replies, and he winds his hands into my hair, and kisses my mouth.

And I no longer care what the village or the One God may think.

…

  
‘Well, that wasn’t so bad,’ Arthur says, dropping the bar back into place across the bedroom door.  
‘No,’ I say, a little ruefully. ‘Nobody actually hit me…’  
Arthur grins, and gives me a friendly clout on the shoulder. ‘They’ll come round, in time. As Llud told them, at least yours is one Saxon axe that fights for us instead of against us. And they already know you’re pretty handy with it. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here.’  
‘Some of them wish that I wasn’t here,’ I say. ‘They made that quite clear.’  
‘A fair few of them were sorry when you left,’ Arthur reassures me. ‘Some of them even bothered to come and tell me so. Anyway, you didn’t come back for them…’  
He is looking at me, in the way that he has been looking at me all through the awkward meal in the longhouse: as though I am some magical and exotic treasure that he has long sought and can’t quite believe is his; as though I may disappear if he takes his eyes off me for too long.  
‘I certainly didn’t,’ I agree.

Arthur sits down on the edge of his bed, and suppresses a yawn.  
I gesture at the bare rushes where my pallet should be.  
‘Am I supposed to sleep on the floor, then?’  
‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur says. ‘When you left, I… cleared out your bed.’  
I sit beside him, and put an arm about his shoulders. ‘No matter,’ I say. ‘I’d be happy to share yours.’  
Arthur tenses, and looks slightly alarmed. Perhaps this is moving too fast for him.  
I gesture to the empty bed by the wall. ‘Or would you rather I –’

‘No!’  
He pulls away from me, as though I have struck him.  
‘Not Iestyn’s – not there. No.’  
I curse myself for a fool. How could I not have seen it before? He has never spoken to me about his foster-brother, but I should have known…  
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. I draw a deep breath; brace myself for what is coming. ‘Were you and he…’  
Arthur shakes his head. ‘It was not… as you think. For him, yes; he felt about me as you do. But for me, it was not the same.’

The look in his eyes wrings my heart.

‘It pained me always, that I could never return his love. It seemed impossible I could ever feel like that, until I looked at you, and I understood… I thought my heart must break, for what he’d suffered… and I’d lost him… and…’  
He buries his face in his hands.  
‘And you felt guilty that you’d given me so easily, what he’d longed for you to give him.’  
Arthur nods.  
‘Do you, still?’  
‘I don’t know.’ Arthur heaves a sigh; looks round at me; rallies himself. ‘No,’ he says. His face is resolute. ‘No more guilt, Kai. What would be the point? He would wish me to be happy. There wasn’t a mean fibre in his being… and he is gone, and you’re here, and at least I don’t have to make you miserable on my account any more.’

‘You don’t have to do anything on my account,’ I say, and I sit down beside him. ‘Not if you don’t want to.’  
‘I do want.’ He puts his arm around my waist. ‘You have no idea how much I want.’  
‘Oh, but I do, my heart.’ I slide a hand over the mound at the front of his breeches. ‘This much… and more…’  
He sniffs, and gives me a watery smile.  
‘Come here,’ I say, and gather him in close. ‘I’ll give you whatever you want – however much, or however little. We can sit here like this all night. I don’t mind. Just don’t send me away. That’s all I ask.’

‘You really do want to stay here – stay with me?’

He is still anxious; I did such damage this morning, when I walked away. He will find it difficult to trust me, for a while.  
‘I always did,’ I tell him. ‘From the day I met you. And I curse the pride and the fear that would not let me say so. When the time came near for me to leave, I – I thought my heart must break. I hid in the stables and wept –’  
‘I heard you,’ he says. ‘But I left you to weep in private, although it pained me. I thought perhaps you were still grieving for your family – for someone you loved, who would not be there to greet you on your return.’  
‘And so I was,’ I say, ‘only not in the way you thought.’  
‘Kai…’ He rests his forehead on my shoulder and breathes deeply, calming himself.  
After a while he asks, ‘Did you have a family, before?’  
‘My parents are dead,’ I say. ‘You’re my family now. Although I doubt Llud sees it that way. It’ll be a long time before he is as a father to me.’  
‘He’ll come round.’ Arthur looks up at me. ‘He’s used to having two sons… and if you think about it, he’s already helped you out twice today.’  
‘Three times,’ I say, ‘if you count taking himself off to sleep elsewhere.’  
And now Arthur is smiling in earnest. ‘I wonder why he might have done that…’ he murmurs.

‘Come closer, and I’ll show you,’ I say.

It is not the most accomplished lovemaking I have ever known. But it will stay in my heart for as long as I live. We are both uncertain, and it takes us a long time even to get each other’s clothes off; but eventually everything is strewn across the floor, and we are lying side by side in Arthur’s bed, which is a start, and far more than I dared ask the Celtic gods to grant me, as I stood weeping on the river bank this morning.

Arthur is once again staring up at the ceiling, clinging to my hand as though it will stop him from falling.

I am harder than I have ever been in my life before, and I suspect that he may be, too, but I don’t dare lay a hand on him to find out. I’m not sure what is expected of me. And I will lose control of myself in an instant if he… I draw in a breath, think of the cold dark water of the river…

Perhaps we should talk for a while.

‘Have you…?’ I ask; and at the same moment Arthur asks tentatively, ‘Have you…?’

We both laugh, and the tension eases.

‘You first,’ he says, and slides across the bed to press himself close against my side. The feel of his naked flank against mine… the smooth curve of his arse… Think of the cold water, Kai, and try to answer him.  
‘Plenty of women,’ I say, ‘although they were a year ago and more. And one man.’

I hear him sigh.

‘One man, and only once,’ I say, ‘on the eve of my first battle. It is the custom.’  
I recall little of that night: only the older man’s big hands, my own fear, the smell of sweat, the strange, half-painful ache…  
‘He was killed, the next day,’ I say, ‘and that was that.’  
‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur says.  
I’m not, and I don’t want to be reminded of it, nor to have to tell Arthur about it.  
‘And you?’ I ask, to distract him.  
He sighs, and takes his time answering. ‘No men. Some women… Well, one, but it wasn’t a great success… Don’t laugh.’  
‘I wouldn’t,’ I say.  
‘You might.’  
‘I don’t know you well enough, yet.’  
‘That can be remedied.’

And he reaches across me, and lifts himself up to kiss my mouth, and then looks into my eyes and says, ‘May I… would you… I mean, I’d like to…’

He is blushing.  
‘Speak plainly,’ I say, smiling up at him. ‘You promised.’  
‘So I did.’  
He smiles back, but his eyes are anxious.

‘There is nothing you cannot say to me,’ I tell him. ‘Nothing I would not do for you, or forbid you to do to me. I know little more of this than you do. But tell me where you would have us go, and we will find a way there together.’

‘I want –’ He hesitates for a fraction, and then plunges headlong. ‘I want to touch you. To have you touch me. _Everywhere_ …’ That last word is a whisper, as he hides his face in my neck. He is shivering. Then he draws a sharp breath, and puts his lips very close against my ear. ‘ _And I want to take you in my mouth. I’ve wanted that ever since the summer, when we bathed in the river, and you saw me looking, and turned away_.’  
‘I want that too,’ I mutter, clenching my teeth. I have to clench myself somewhere else, too, not to come then and there, just at that quiet, hesitant whisper, and the warm tickling of his breath in my ear, and the thought of those beautiful lips drawing my prick in between them…

‘ _And then I want you to show me_ –’

Cold water, Kai, deep, dark, cold water…

‘– _how to prepare your body to admit mine_ –’

Now I can feel his hard cock nudging against my side. Dear Gods. I cannot even draw breath to tell him to stop talking.

‘– _because I want to lie with you. And if that’s not speaking plain enough_ –’

Oh, it is, my heart, it is …

‘ – _I want to fuck you_.’

And I am coming. I can’t help it. A groan escapes me, and my body convulses as a year’s worth of frustration and longing spills out of me in great gouts, drenching my belly and sides, and Arthur too, with my issue.  
Mortified, I try to push Arthur away, but he clings to me, pressing against me, helping me through it.

When it’s over, we roll apart, and lie there in silence for a while. I don’t know what to say. Perhaps I have insulted him by my weakness.

I hear a shaken breath; feel him trembling. Is he weeping? What have I done?

Then he reaches for my hand, and turns to face me, and my heart turns over: he is laughing. Not at me, not in scorn, but simply with amusement.

‘I didn’t mean it to turn out quite like that,’ he says.  
‘Neither did I,’ I answer, with a wry twist to my mouth.  
‘Forgive me,’ he says, and moves over to lie close to me again, all sweaty and slick though I am. ‘I should have thought, what it might do to you. But it felt so good, to be able to tell you the truth, when I’d been thinking about saying it for so long. And you did tell me to speak plainly.’  
I laugh out loud at that; the last shreds of doubt melting away like the spring snows. ‘So I did,’ I say.

Still grinning, he gets out of bed, half-hard, and glorious in his tousled nakedness, and fetches water and a cloth.

He wipes himself clean, watching me watch him; then comes back to kneel beside the bed and wash my body, every part of it, as humbly and thoroughly as though I were the chieftain here, and he the bondsman.

Then he climbs back in beside me, and we lie entwined and warm under the sheepskins.  
Arthur sighs with contentment, settling his head more comfortably on my chest.  
‘Your turn,’ he says.  
‘For what?’  
‘To speak plainly.’ He is chuckling. ‘You can take your revenge now. Tell me what you want.’

‘I want…’ I slide my hand down over the curves and planes of his ribs and belly, and dare at last to touch him.

He draws in a breath as his prick begins to harden under my caressing fingers.

‘Tell me,’ he says.  
I bend my head to whisper in his ear.

‘ _I want to touch you_ ,’ I tell him, feeling the hot blood rising to my face.

Part of me feels foolish – a man does not speak like this to another man. But he is shivering already, from the words as much as from the contact.

‘And what else?’ he murmurs, pressing eagerly up into my grasp.

‘ _I want – I want to wrap my hand around your_ –’

This is more difficult than I had expected.

‘Don’t stop,’ he commands me.

I take a deep breath, and tighten my grip. ‘– _your cock_.’ I am blushing fiercely. ‘ _And make you harder than you’ve ever been in your life. Until you’re pleading for release._ ’

I work his prick with a few firm strokes. He moans, and moves his hips; I slide my thumb over the wetness at his tip.

‘ _And then_ ,’ I whisper, getting the measure of this, ‘ _I want to let go of you_ –’

He makes a protesting sound; I give his earlobe a nip with my teeth, and hear him whimper.

‘ _But only so that I can take you in my mouth_ …’

He is arching his back, pushing against my hand, hungry for more. I am beginning to enjoy this.

‘… _take everything you have to give_ …’

‘Do it,’ he pleads. ‘Just do it. Please, Kai.’

I could take revenge; make him come in my hand. But I am not merciless enough to refuse him.

And anyway, every word I have told him is true.

So I let go of him, and trail kisses down the midline of his perfect body, down into the soft thatch of dark hair in his groin, breathing in the rich scent of his sweat and sex; and although I have never done this in my life before, I hesitate only a moment before I open my mouth and take the tip of his iron-hard cock onto my tongue.

It tastes of salt, and of Arthur. I close my lips around it, careful to cover my teeth, and slide him further in.  
He groans, and clenches his fists in the blankets. I cup my hand around his balls, kneading them gently, astonished and elated by his complete trust in me, who should by rights be his enemy.

I murmur with contentment, deep in my throat; then he is crying out, a high, wild, jubilant sound, and thrusting with his hips, and filling my mouth with his seed, with himself, with his very essence…

Afterwards, he is in tears.

I hold him; cradle him against me; do my best to comfort him.  
‘I’m sorry,’ he says at last. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’  
‘Never mind,’ I say, putting a hand against his damp cheek. ‘Perhaps you just need to sleep. This is only our first night, after all; and it has been a long day, for both of us.’  
‘It’s felt like years,’ he says, and yawns hugely. ‘Maybe you’re right. So much has changed, since this morning. And I’m so tired, I – I’m not sure who I am, any more.’

I kiss the top of his head, breathing in the fragrance of his hair, his body, our mingled sweat.

‘ _I know who you are_ ,’ I whisper into his ear. ‘ ** _You are my Arthur; and you are my heart_**.’


End file.
